Pardners Part 3

"'Messenger boy,' I replies, perjuring my vocal cords.

"When she opened the door, I pushed through and closed it behind me.

"'What does this mean?' she cried. 'Help!'

"'Shut up! It means you're killing the best boy in the world, and I want to know why.'

"'Who are you?'

"'I'm Bill Joyce, your husband's pardner. Old Tarantula Bill, that don't fear no man, woman, or child that roams the forest. I'm here to find what ails you--'

"'Leave this house, sir!'

"'Well, not to any extent. You're a good girl; I knowed it when I first seen your picture. Now, I want you to tell me--'

"'Insolent! Shall I call the police?' Her voice was icy, and she stood as solid as stone.

"'Madam, I'm as gentle as a jellyfish, and peaceful to a fault, but if you raise a row before I finish my talk I'll claim no responsibility over what occurs to the first eight or ten people that intrudes,' and I drawed my skinnin' knife, layin' it on the planner.

'Philanthropy is raging through my innards, and two loving hearts need joining!'

"'I don't love him,' she quotes, like a phonograft, ignoring my cutlery.

"'I'll take exception to that ruling,' and I picks up a picture of Justus she'd dropped as I broke in. She never batted an eye.

"'I nursed that lad through brain fever, when all he could utter was your name.'

"'Has he been sick?' The first sign of spring lit up her peaks.

"'Most dead. Notice of the divorce done it. He's in bad shape yet.'

Morrow never had a sick day in his life, but I stomped both feet on the soft pedal, and pulled out the tremulo stop.

"'Oh! Oh!' Her voice was soft, though she still stood like a birch.

"'Little girl,' I laid a hand on her shoulder. 'We both love that boy. Come, now, what is the matter?'

"She flashed up like powder.

"'Matter? I thought he was a gentleman, even though he didn't love me; that he had a shred of honour, at least. But no! He went to Alaska and made a fortune. Then he squandered it, drinking, fighting, gambling, and frittering it away on women. Bah! Lewd creatures of the dance-halls, too.'

"'Hold up! Your dope sheet is way to the bad. There's something wrong with your libretto. Who told you all that?'

"'Never mind. I have proof. Look at these, and you dare to ask me why I left him?'

"She dragged out some pictures and throwed 'em at me.

"'Ah! Why didn't I let the kid kill him?' says I, through my teeth.

"The first was the gambling-room of the Reception. There stood Morrow with the men under foot; there was the bottles and gla.s.ses; the chips and cards, and also the distressful spectacle of Tarantula Bill Joyce, a number twelve man, all gleaming teeth, and rolling eyeb.a.l.l.s, inserting hisself into a number nine opening, and doing surprising well at it.

"'Look at them. Look at them well,' she gibed.

"The second was the Gold-Belt dance-hall, with the kid cavorting through a drunken orgy of painted ladies, like a bull in a pansy patch. But the other--it took my breath away till I felt I was on smooth ice, with cracks showing. It was the inside of a cabin, after a big 'pot-latch,' displaying a table littered up with fizz bottles and dishes galore. Diamond Tooth Lou stood on a chair, waving kisses and spilling booze from a mug. In the centre stood Morrow with another girl, nestling agin his boosum most horrible lovin'. Gee!

It was a home splitter and it left me sparring for wind. The whole thing exhaled an air of debauchery that would make a wooden Indian blush. No one thing in particular; just the general local colour of a thousand-dollar bender.

"'Charming, isn't it?' she sneered.

"'I don't savvy the burro. There's something phony about it. I can explain the other two, but this one--.' Then it come to me in a flash. The man's face was perfect, but he wore knickerbockers! Now, to my personal knowledge, the only being that ever invaded Rampart City in them things was R. Alonzo Struthers.

"'There's secrets of the dark-room that I ain't wise to,' says I, 'but I feel that this is going to be a bad night for the newspaper enterprise of 'Frisco if it don't explain. I'll fetch the man that busted your Larrys and Peanuts.'

"'Our what?' says she.

"'Larrys and Peanuts--that's Roman. The kid told me all about 'em.

They're sort of little cheap G.o.ds!'

"'Will you ever go?' she snapped. 'I don't need your help. Tell him I hate him!' She stamped her foot, and the iron come into her again till the pride of all Kentucky blazed in her eyes.

"She couldn't understand my explanations no more than I could, so I ducked. As I backed out the door, though, I seen her crumple up and settle all of a heap on the floor. She certainly did hate that man scandalous.

"I'm glad some editors work nights. Struthers wasn't overjoyed at my call, particular, as I strayed in with two janitors dangling from me.

They said he was busy and couldn't be interrupted, and they seemed to insist on it.'

"'It's a bully night,' says I, by way of epigram, unhooking the pair of bouncers. "'You wouldn't like me to take you ridin' perhaps?'

"'Are you drunk, or crazy?' says he. 'What do you mean by breaking into my office? I can't talk to you; we're just going to press.'

"'I'd like to stay and watch it,' says I, 'but I've got a news item for you.' At the same time I draws my skinner and lays it on the back of his neck, tempting. Steel, in the lamp-light, is discouraging to some temperaments. One of the body-guards was took with urgent business, and left a streamer of funny noises behind him, while the other gave autumn-leaf imitations in the corner. Struthers looked like a dose of seasickness on a sour stomach.

"Get your hat. Quick!' I jobbed him, gentle and encouraging.

"Age allus commands respect. Therefore the sight of a six-foot, grizzled Klondiker in a wide hat, benevolently prodding the night editor in the short ribs and apple sauce, with eight bright and chilly inches, engendered a certain respect in the reportorial staff.

"'You're going to tell Mrs. Morrow all about the pretty pictures,' I says, like a father.

"'Let me go, d.a.m.n you!' he frothed, but I wedged him into a corner of the cab and took off his collar--in strips. It interfered with his breathing, as I couldn't get a holt low enough to regulate his respiration. He kicked out two cab windows, but I b.u.mped his head agin the woodwork, by way of repartee. It was a real pleasure, not to say recreation, experimenting with the noises he made. Seldom I get a neck I give a cuss to squeeze. His was number fifteen at first, by the feel; but I reduced it a quarter size at a time.

"When we got there I helped him out, one hand under his chin, the other back of his ears. I done it as much from regard of the neighbours as animosities to him, for it was the still, medium small hours. I tiptoed in with my treatise on the infamies of photography gurgling under my hand, but at the door I stopped. It was ajar; and there, under the light, I spied Morrow. In his arms I got glimpses of black lace and wavy, brown hair, and a white cheek that he was accomplis.h.i.+ng wonders with. They wouldn't have heard a man-hole explosion.

"'He's still fitting to be my pardner,' I thinks, and then I heard Struthers's teeth chatter and grind. I looked at him, and the secret of the whole play came to me.

"Never having known the divine pa.s.sion, it ain't for me to judge, but I tightened on his voice-box and whispered:

"'You've outlived your period of usefulness, Struthers, and it's time to go. Let us part friends, however.' So I bade him G.o.dspeed from the top step.

"Looking back on the evening now, that adieu was my only mistake. I limped for a week--he had a bottle in his hip pocket."